


Wolf Pack

by QueenForADay



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Ciri is Overwhelmed, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon Needs a Hug, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Gentle Kissing, Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg are Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parents, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Good Parent Jaskier | Dandelion, Good Parent Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Hurt Ciri, Jaskier is the Only Qualified Therapist for Miles, Jaskier | Dandelion is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, M/M, Not Beta Read, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Young Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: But he looks down at Ciri, hands still clinging to the front of his shirt and head resting against his collarbone.“I can’t imagine how terrifying all of this is for you,” Jaskier mumbles, “but know that if you ever feel overwhelmed, or need someone to talk to, you have people here who will look after you. Not because of any destiny-link or whatever, but because we understand.”She sniffles.Jaskier hugs her tighter. “Geralt and Yenn and me, we’ll all watch out for you, little cub. You won’t be alone in all of this.”
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 423





	Wolf Pack

**Author's Note:**

> There is one (1) brain cell shared between the Adults of the group and in a shocking turn of events, Jaskier is in sole possession of it.

Theirs is a strange family. A girl is at the centre of it with two people bound to her by destiny. It’s always about the girl. It will always be about her.

Past relationships aside, Jaskier made peace with the fact that he’ll have to share aspects of his life with Yennefer. If he’s going to stay with Geralt and the girl, then the sorceress will be involved in some form. He doesn’t _hate_ the sorceress – not really. He just hates the chaos that radiates off of her and the destruction it normally leaves in its wake. Distant, whispered words from the mountain echo against the shell of his ear.

But Ciri needs the sorceress. There’s something in the girl’s veins that hums, something not quite right. And it will need to be tempered. She’s brought it up to them when her guardians were just Geralt and Jaskier. She told them of a field and an encounter with a group of boys she knew from Cintra. She told them of something that overtook her; not quite a rage, but not quite fear.

“Something like chaos?” Geralt asked, not taking his eyes off of the girl.

Ciri merely nodded and went back to picking at her dinner.

Whatever flowed through her veins hadn’t yet reared its head. All they could go off of were Ciri’s recollections. Still, Jaskier watched Geralt’s face, and while to the outside world, the Witcher only ever seemed to have one expression, Jaskier knew all of his little tells.

A slightly creased brow and the downward pull of his lip. Geralt was worried.

It took Jaskier a while to fit himself into Ciri’s life; if she needed a sorceress to help her with her magic, and a Witcher for her physical training, what use was Jaskier to her?

He offered her normality, he supposed. She spoke the most to him – mainly because Geralt wasn’t very talkative. Yennefer entertained her for a time; but Ciri’s ramblings about something or nothing at all only found their match with Jaskier.

He met her before; when the young princess was only a few summers old, and would scamper around the throne room of Cintra during banquets and tourneys dodging her guards. He remembers an apple-cheeked young girl listening intently to his songs about past adventures and love and loss. In the summers where he couldn’t reach Cintra for the princess’ birthday, he often wondered how he would go about sending something to the palace for her. She loved flowers – daffodils, the first flowers of spring, which would pop up along the roads lighting them in gold.

But that girl isn’t the one with them now. Something happened to her. He can see the effects of it settle into her face. When she isn’t talking to him about the old stories he used to tell her, or whatever else there is to talk about on the walk towards Kaer Morhen, still leagues away, she’s as silent as a graveyard.

They watch her. They all do. When the nights get too dark, she’ll find one of them to hold and assure her that nothing will ever come to harm her. There have been a few nights when the flap of their tent as been yanked open, and suddenly a small trembling girl is buried between him and Geralt.

Not that he ever found himself minding. He would gladly never sleep again if it meant he could help Ciri get through one night undisturbed. And Geralt doesn’t wade that far into sleep; always hovering in between consciousness, just in case their camp is set upon by monsters or something else entirely. Before Jaskier can even open his eyes, he feels the Witcher throw his arm over Ciri, shielding her from the world outside. In the nights she goes to Yennefer, the air around the camp suddenly quietens. Whatever static that prickles ebbs away after a time.

* * *

“Did you know my parents?”

A chord yelps as Jaskier’s fingers pluck the wrong string. He looks over to Ciri and is almost floored by the eyes blinking back at him. “I did,” he says after a time. “I met them at your birthday banquets.”

Ciri’s lips thin. “Did you know them before that?”

A stillness falls over them, only broken every so often by the crackle of the fire. Never before has he wished for Yennefer to return to them, but he finds himself wishing to every god that he can think of for _someone_ to come back and save him—

“They died when I was little,” she says quietly, looking down at her lap. Her fingers fidget with the frayed edge of her tunic. Sitting at the mouth of her tent, they’re shielded from the worst of the cold. Ciri sniffs. “I don’t...I remember them, but...”

Jaskier stares at the side of Ciri’s face. The girl swallows. “Sometimes I’m afraid that I’ll forget them.”

And the short quiet that settles over them is almost deafening. Jaskier threatens to choke on it. “What brought all of this on?” Jaskier breathes. Ciri doesn’t answer for a while, preferring to pick at a loose thread from her tunic for a moment.

Nothing comes out of her for the rest of the night. Just as quickly as she ignited the conversation, it’s quenched as soon as she stands up and wanders over to her bedroll beside the fire.

He doesn’t chase it. If she wants to talk to him, she will. She’s old enough to make her own decisions about her mind. But Jaskier stows their conversation away in his head and goes back to watching the trees, hoping that a Witcher or sorceress will come back.

* * *

They shield her from most of it. Ciri may be a child, but she isn’t stupid. And sometimes, she gets a glimpse into how the world can actually be. The falling of Cintra, the march of refugees. And he doesn’t quite have the heart to tell her that, yes that was all terrible, and those who had sheltered her shouldn’t have said those things about a queen whose body wasn’t yet cold, but the world could be crueller if you walk around it long enough.

The town they pass through looks like any other in the midlands. Shutters are already pulled across the windows of shops and stores, and even the blacksmith’s forge has been put out for the day. The sun has already set, and now they’re just waiting for the skies to darken.

When the first hissed snarls reach his ears, Jaskier is quick to usher Ciri towards the tavern’s door. “We’ll sort out rooms and some dinner,” he calls over his shoulder. Geralt meets his eyes and nods.

_Mutant._

_Scum._

_Hag_.

 _Whore_.

Those inside the tavern pay them no mind – Jaskier thanks the gods. Ciri stays by his side as they head for the bar. Her fingers skim his as they walk. A reminded that she is always just a reach away. The innkeep is an elderly man who regards them for a moment. A purse-full of gold and silver coins earns them two rooms, dinner, and breakfast for the morning. He’s sure that the coin would have only gotten them the rooms, but the presence of a small girl by his side would have swayed the innkeep. No matter how cruel the world could be, there’s always some small speck of good to be found somewhere.

No one pays any attention to the Witcher and the sorceress that step inside the tavern, though both of them do a quick scan over each table. A couple of people turn just to see who’s coming inside, but Jaskier breathes a relieved sigh when they just turn back to their ale and bread.

The four of them pick at their dinners – stew with braised beef and chunks of soft vegetables, soft bread rolls, and tankards of ale for the three elders. Jaskier makes most of the conversation, conversing mainly to himself about the state of their journey so far, or a memory of something or other about Oxenfurt. That’s how it usually is. Yennefer talks too, but it’s mostly to Ciri. Jaskier watches the girl out of the corner of his eye. She’s been quiet ever since their late-night talk. _Talk_ isn’t the right word for it. Her words have been stalking through his mind ever since. He spoke to Geralt about it; but all the Witcher had to offer was a tight hum and a small promise that he would keep an eye on her.

Ciri is the first of them to finish eating. “Is it alright if I head upstairs?”

Yennefer lifts her chin. “You don’t have to ask for our permission.”

And with that, the girl clambers out of their booth and disappears upstairs. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Jaskier pats the table. “Right, well,” he huffs, “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.” He glances to Geralt. “I’ll be turning in for the night.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow, but nods. His version of _goodnight_. Jaskier’s fingers graze his spaulder as he passes – he’ll never try and do anything more intimate than that in public. Some people already hate Witchers and their travelling companions. Gods only know what they would think of and do to people who slept with them.

Ciri sits pressed against the headboard of the bed, knees drawn up to her chest. She doesn’t look up as Jaskier tentatively steps inside. “Everything alright?” he asks slowly, letting the door close behind him. He stays where he is, wanting her to have as much space as she wants. But everything in him wants to move forward, gather her up and assure her that everything will be okay.

The silence that sits between them stretches out for a few minutes. Some sounds from downstairs float up; the muffled chatter of people, someone drawing a bow across a fiddle, the innkeep calling out for last orders.

It all fades away as Ciri loosens a short sigh. She picks at the skin of her palm. “Am I a monster?”

The question hits him like a punch to the face. “What-No, no Ciri,” Jaskier winces, “of course you’re not. Why would you think that?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “People say these things,” she whispers. “They say awful things about Geralt and Yennefer and _you_ , and if they saw what I could do, they would say awful things about me. And I didn’t do anything to them!-”

The words start to catch in her throat.

Jaskier clicks his tongue. “Sweet girl, come here,” he rushes forward, falling on to the edge of her bed to gather her into a firm hug. She goes easily enough, face crumpling as tears start to streak down her cheeks. “People are afraid of what they don’t understand. Most of the time, people will hate what they’re afraid of – because hate is something that is easier to do than learn and accept.”

She trembles against him, harsh, quick breaths lost into his chest. Carding his fingers through her hair, he does what he can to gentle. It won’t be a lot. Yennefer is the best at it – Jaskier puts it down to being a _lady_ thing. For all the sorceress can be cold and unnerving, he’s seen a warmness behind those eyes ever since Ciri became her charge too. It’s the same one that he finds in Geralt; the Witcher’s normal blunt exterior slowly slipping away with every day.

“You are good,” Jaskier says into the crown of her head. “You are good and that’s what the world needs right now. The things they say, they shouldn’t matter. They don’t know who you are. You can spend your entire life trying to get every single person to like you, but you’ll be exhausted by the end of it.”

She settles into his chest. It’s all too familiar of the brief visits he made to Cintra; a tired princess who danced with banquet halls until she fell asleep slouched by his side. He isn’t sure how much time passes them, but Jaskier’s ears prick at the sound of familiar footsteps coming down the hall and pausing just outside the door. Ciri buries another sob into his chest.

The footsteps go back towards the stairs.

This is the most tears he’s seen from her since finding her and Geralt outside of Sodden. She cries when she thinks no one can see her; a few tears spilt for those she lost, the uncertainty of what’s happening, the fear that sits with her like a friend. But he’s never seen _this_. The front of his shirt is damp with tears and he doesn’t give a damn. Whatever needs to get out of her needs to get out, and he’ll stay with her until it’s gone.

And it takes almost half an hour. Jaskier watches the candles slowly melt into their holders, and the noises from downstairs begin to ebb away. But he looks down at Ciri, hands still clinging to the front of his shirt and head resting against his collarbone.

“I can’t imagine how terrifying all of this is for you,” Jaskier mumbles, “but know that if you ever feel overwhelmed, or need someone to talk to, you have people here who will look after you. Not because of any destiny-link or whatever, but because we understand.”

She sniffles.

Jaskier hugs her tighter. “Geralt and Yenn and me, we’ll all watch out for you, little cub. You won’t be alone in all of this.”

Her arms loosen. The first time she peels her face away from his chest, he tries not to wince at how wet and blotchy her face is. He wipes the last tear streaking down her cheeks away.

“Thank you,” Ciri rasps, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. She takes a second to rearrange her hair, wisps of it falling out of the loose bun she’s been tying it in lately. For the briefest of moments, she looks bashful as she slinks away from him to lie back down.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Jaskier asks. “Until Yennefer comes up and kicks me out?”

It earns a light laugh out of her. “No, I’m...I’m good. Thanks.”

He helps arrange pillows and blankets and throws. There’s a single lit candle next to her bedside that he quenches for her as she buries her nose into her pillow. “See you in the morning, little cub,” Jaskier mumbles.

The door barely shuts behind him before he’s accosted by a Witcher and a sorceress.

“Is she alright?” one blurts out.

“What happened?” the other follows.

Jaskier takes a breath. “She’s fine. Just had a bit of a meltdown.” Jaskier waves a hand. “Everything was a bit too much for her.”

And if he had his wits about him, he probably would have appreciated their twined distraught faces. Yennefer wrings her hands together – and tries to get them to settle by her side when she catches herself, but her fingers pick at the hem of her jacket or a layer of her skirt. Geralt is the furthest from the door, watching it warily like a lone deer wondering if it should wander out into a clear meadow or not. 

Yennefer’s expression shifts into something he doesn’t see that often. Her eyes soften as she stares at the door to her room. “Thanks. For being with her.”

Jaskier blinks. “You’re...welcome.”

Yennefer nods curtly before slipping into the room.

Geralt has his arms folded in front of him. Jaskier reaches out, placing his hand on to a forearm. “Come on,” he says softly. “You can let that _emotionless, unfeeling_ front you always have on fall in our room. You can tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Geralt scowls. “Nothing’s going on in my head.”

Jaskier arches an eyebrow. “Sure. And I’m planning on eloping to the Skellige islands with Valdo Marx.”

Their own room is across the hall, with one bed instead of two. It’s made up like the other room in that the bed is already made with blankets and throws to stave off the night chill. Jaskier perches at the foot of the bed, picking at the skin around his fingernail. “She’s going to be fine, you know,” he says after a quiet moment.

Geralt wordlessly takes off his armour, setting each piece neatly and carefully on to the back of a nearby chair or on to a desk pushed against the wall. When he’s down to his usual loose shirt and breeches, he pads over to Jaskier. “I...” he frowns, chasing words that don’t come easily to him. Jaskier shuffles to the side, inviting the Witcher to sit. He doesn’t try and help Geralt with his words. He _does_ have them. They’re just flighty things that scatter like birds as soon as he tries to catch them.

Geralt sighs. “I do worry for her,” he says after a time, “after everything she’s seen. Everything she’s been through. What she _will_ go through once we reach Kaer Morhen. And after that-I don’t know.”

Jaskier catches one of Geralt’s hands.

The Witcher presses on. “I know...I know that I’m not good at,” he gestures between the two of them, “this, talking. It comes easier to others. But I want her to know that...I understand, when she’s scared. I want to help her.”

Jaskier clicks his tongue. “She knows that, Geralt,” he soothes, leaning against his shoulder. “She’s _yours_. She’s tied to _you._ If anyone is going to help her the best, it’s going to be you.”

A small wince flashes over the Witcher’s face. “She’s tied to me,” he repeats, looking off into a corner of the room.

Jaskier frowns, squeezing Geralt’s hand. “Do _not_ go blaming yourself for anything, do you hear me Geralt?” he says forcefully. “I forbid it.”

“But the thoughts are with me,” Geralt sighs. “The _what if_ ’s. What if I never invoked the Law of Surprise? Would she still be in Cintra, living the normal life of a Princess? What if we never went to that banquet at all? Would her parents have been married? Would Calanthe have killed Duny? Ciri wouldn’t even have been born.”

Jaskier’s hold on Geralt’s hand tightens into something that would be painful for a normal man. “Everything that has happened has happened for reasons beyond your control,” Jaskier says. “There is no point in wondering about any variables. Something, a god or some otherworldly force, made it happen.”

He reaches up, carding his fingers through Geralt’s hair. The Witcher sighs, leaning slightly into the touch. “I told Ciri that if she’s worried about anything, she can talk to any of us. I want you to do the same.”

Geralt looks at him like he wants to argue. But it’s dropped as soon as he turns to the bard and sees a soft yet stony expression facing him. Instead, Geralt sighs and sets his forehead against Jaskier. Their noses brush; sharing a breath between them. “I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Geralt breathes, leaning forward to catch Jaskier’s lips in a soft kiss.

Jaskier hums. Geralt frees his hand from Jaskier’s grasp, reaching up to cup the side of his face. After a moment, Jaskier breaks the kiss, but sets their foreheads back together again. “Promise me,” he breathes. “That you’ll talk to me, to anyone, if your mind is getting the better of you.”

Geralt’s thumb brushes the ridge of his cheekbone. “I promise,” he mumbles.

A small smile curls along Jaskier’s lips. “Good. You’re far too precious to me,” he says, kissing Geralt again.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblrs;  
> yourqueenforayear (terrible humour and general devilment) || agoodgoddamnshot (writings)
> 
> Kudoa & Comments gladly appreciated x
> 
> Stay Home. Stay Safe x


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